Guns, Booze, and Steel - A Prohibitionist Tale

Shit. That’s the only word to describe your first kill in the mob. Depending on who you are, what you are, that one beepin’ word means a whole beepin’ lot. If you’re like me, you feel like ya just committed sacrilege, like ya crapped on ol’ Abe Lincoln’s grave or something. If you’re like Henky Wilson, ya feel like settin’ off a coupla goddam fireworks in a cloakroom.That’s what he did. Don’t ask me why he did it, ‘cause I haven’t the slightest clue. He just did it, and in a frickin’ preschool too, with the kids inside and all. Blinded about four and damaged another five’s hearing. Permanently. Yeah, shit. But that wasn’t why the boss put him on bathroom duty for four frickin’ months. Turned out the preschool’s actually a front for this little booze-making establishment the boss had going on the side. The fireworks ruined about half the kegs he’d stashed there, and he had to pay extra this month to keep the coppers quiet. Makes you wonder what the world’s coming to.

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